


Prelude

by Once_More_With_Feeling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 23:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18648280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_More_With_Feeling/pseuds/Once_More_With_Feeling
Summary: Mrs. Hughes shows Thomas a bit of kindness, on a difficult day. Set before all my other stories; after the war, but before Jimmy.





	Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I haven't been here for a while, and thought perhaps I was finished posting Downton fics. I still think about Thomas all the time, and make up little stories for myself just about every day. I stopped writing and posting them, though, because I haven't really come up with anything new in about a year (maybe longer). 
> 
> Then this one materialized one night. And I suppose it's a bit different, in that it takes place earlier than any of my other stories (excepting flashbacks in some of them). Which means the Thomas here is prickly, hot-tempered, and probably at the height of his being misunderstood by almost everyone around him. Everyone, that is, except my favorite mother-figure, Mrs. Elsie Hughes. 
> 
> Or it's just more of the same stuff from me. Either way, I hope some of you enjoy.

The door slams with a mighty _thud,_ and when Anna steps inside, Mrs. Hughes is sure she has not seen a look of such perturbation on the head housemaid’s face before.

But before she can ask after her, Anna demands, “What’s got Mr. Barrow in such an awful mood?”

Mrs. Hughes only raises her eyebrows. Mr. Barrow tends to spend his days in a generally awful mood, and his smart remarks are usually considered normal down here. What could he possibly have said or done that would be such a surprise to someone who had known him this long?

Again, before Mrs. Hughes can ask anything, Anna fills her in. “He just snapped at me now, gave me a proper dressing down, over the stupidest thing. Just now in the court yard. What’s wrong with him?”

While Mrs. Hughes is rather certain that Anna would have aimed this directive at whomever happened to be standing nearest the door just now, and she is merely the victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, she sighs, and actually considers for a moment what might be ‘wrong’ with Mr. Barrow. At least on this particular day.

And when it hits her, she closes her eyes, and shakes her head. The date. That is what is wrong.

“What is it?” Anna asks, some of her earlier indignance beginning to melt away, to reveal her usually cheerful countenance.

Mrs. Hughes opens her eyes now. She shakes her head and says, “Nothing. Only I’m sure it’s… the weather… that’s bothering him.”

Anna looks confused, if not annoyed. “The weather?” she asks. “We’re only a month into winter, Mrs. Hughes. And I’m quite sure the weather isn’t any different today than it was yesterday, or the day before. How could it be bothering him this much?”

She looks at Anna now, trying to decide if she ought to change her tack now, and tell the truth. But it feels like a betrayal. So she says softly, “It’s just that I think the cold hurts his hand. You must have caught him in a moment of pain.”

“Oh,” Anna says, and drops her shoulders. Whatever Mr. Barrow said to her may have been uncalled for, but she isn’t about to tread on the subject of his war wound.

She sighs, and says, “You’re right. I’m sure you’re right. I should try to be more patient.”

Mrs. Hughes nods sympathetically, and answers, “I suppose we all should. Though we all know Mr. Barrow doesn’t make that easy.”

***

Mrs. Hughes knows she ought to do something to smooth things over, and she spends the rest of the day quietly trying to determine what that ought to be. It is always difficult to do the right thing when it comes to Thomas, because one must consider how much to do, as well as what.

When Mr. Carson carries the pudding upstairs to the dining room that evening, an idea comes to her, but she isn’t certain it will work. Timing will be important. So she waits until the washing up is nearly finished, and Mr. Carson is secured in his pantry. Normally this would be when she would join him for a glass of sherry to end their work day, but not tonight.

She walks into the kitchen, and asks Mrs. Patmore, as casually as possible, if there are any of those little chocolate cakes left from the upstairs pudding.

The cook turns to her and asks, “Have you got a sweet tooth tonight, Mrs. Hughes?” The housekeeper smiles gently, and nods. If accepting the blame for craving sweets is what it will take to get Mrs. Patmore to release one of the confections to her, then she will gladly do it.

“I suppose I do,” she says.

“Well, I think there are one or two left, actually. Help yourself, if you’ve a mind to.”

Mrs. Hughes thanks the cook, and moves quickly away to the larder. There are, in fact, three cakes left, but she only needs one. She chooses the largest of the three, and puts it on small white plate. She adds a dessert spoon, then moves off in the direction of the servants’ hall.

Luckily, she finds Mr. Barrow there alone, smoking a cigarette. Normally he would have been reading the newspaper as well, but tonight he sits staring at the table, occasionally tapping the ashes from his cigarette into a little dish. Silently praying that all the other servants have gone to bed, she approaches him.

“Mr. Barrow?” she says, softly.

He jerks a little, and looks at her. He must have been miles away; he looks alarmed, though she can’t tell if that is simply because she is standing there, or because of what she holds in her hands.

She pauses for a second, and makes sure her words come out calmly and smoothly. “I brought you a little treat,” she says.

Now he looks directly at the cake, as though there might be something wrong with it. “Why?” he asks.

She steps closer to him. She considers her words carefully. “I think you know why,” she says very softly, and tries to smile.

His face clouds over completely now, and he looks down. He does not tell her to leave, though, so she sets the plate down in front of him. His face crumples, and he looks at the cake with worry and disdain, as though she has just given him some vile thing, and asked him to get rid of it.

She watches him intently. How could _kindness_ be the very thing to make a man crumble into such ire and vexation? She wonders for the thousandth time in her acquaintance with him what could have happened to him, to make him react this way to such a small gift. She cannot know what—or what all—he went through before he came to Downton, and whatever he saw in the trenches surely didn’t help. But perhaps kindness, for Thomas, is something like medicine. Dangerous and lethal in quantities too large, but safe—and healing—in small doses.

So she nudges the plate toward him just a little, and says, “You ought to have a treat for your birthday.” He says nothing, and she considers adding something to the effect of _“If you could be just a little nicer, you might have happier birthdays.”_ But no. Today at least, he deserves a reprieve from the constant haranguing from the world, insisting that he ought to change. So she leans down close to his ear, and says very steadily, “We love you just the way you are.”

He lets out a little puff of breath he must have been holding, and she wonders if he is about to cry. It is time to stop, then. She had thought she might give him a little kiss, but knows now that that would be too much for him. Instead she straightens up, reaches out, and brushes his high cheekbone with the back of her hand. While nearly as intimate, this gesture seems more helpful, as it sweeps away the tear that runs downward to his chin.

Still he says nothing, but closes his eyes and allows her touch for a few seconds. When the tear is gone, she strokes his cheek once more, slowly this time. Once she pulls away, he surprises her by nodding, and she hopes this means that he believes her.

It is time to leave him in peace now, so she takes a small step away. And just before she turns to leave, he lets her see him pick up the little spoon.


End file.
